A new Fic bunny: Chapter 1
A new fic bunny popped up in my mind the other night so I started writing it. It's going to be about 3 or 4 chapters long with some lovely fluffy smut (for those of you who are interested! LOL), however I can't think of an appropriate title, so I've decided to post the unbeta-ed Chapter 1 here and ask my loyal readers for their title suggestions. So here you go, my latest fic offering. And for anyone that is wondering, Irae Culpa chapter 2 IS still going, but this next chapter is quite long and is taking me a while to write. So in the meantime have some other fic instead.
This D/G fic is Post-Hogwarts, contains no real HBP spoilers because in HBP Harry was only theorising about something we've been putting in fanfic for AGES, so you'll only recognise it if you've read HBP and if you haven't, then it's nothing out of the ordinary if you've read any other D/G. It's only really suitable for mature audiences so under 18's look away now! LOL Lots of bad and crude language (but it's hardly gratuitous and is definitely needed for the story), Nudity, scenes of a sexual nature and attempted rape. If you are affected by these then please don't read this fic.
UNTITLED
Ginny Weasley or 'Scarlette' as she had allowed them to unimaginatively call her, sighed deeply as she looked in the mirror. The ancient grandfather clock down in the reception area had struck eight in the evening but mere moments before and she could hear the deep rumbling voices of the first of the evening's clients as they leafed through the 'menu'.
Tugging at the bottle-green lace so that it rode dangerously low, she examined her reflection one last time, cast the three quick, necessary charms, then tucked her wand into the box in the drawer of the dressing table, along with her Gringotts key and the small envelope of personal mementoes - all that was left of the life she had been forced to flee. Lifting the ugly, heavy glass perfume bottle she sprayed herself liberally then made her way to the tackily over-draped bed with it's Gold accents, pillows a-plenty and unmistakable air of excess and debauchery. Just how they liked it. Arranging herself in one of the recommended positions she waited.
Casting her eyes around the room, they lit upon the crimson armchair. Too far from the bed to be of any practical use, it was usually ignored and overlooked. However as she took in the familiar details such as the slightly fraying edging on the left corner of the cushion and the indentation in the seat, she wondered if he would come tonight. The other girls called him her watcher. They laughed about him and thought it was creepy, but Ginny was secretly rather fond of him. His visits were sporadic, but when he came, he would pay Madame Celeste (Winifred Benton) an obscenely large amount of money and he would sit in that armchair, all evening, covered in an invisibility cloak and simply watch her.
Sometimes she felt a little embarrassed, particularly when faking her Orgasm 'scenes', but she supposed that if that was what he got off on then it was fine by her. He could have touched her any time he liked - he paid enough money after all, but yet he did nothing, and a small part of her liked him for it. The money came in handy too - not that she was able to leave the safety of the house to spend it...
She was jolted from her musings by the hatefully familiar knock at the door. Madame Celeste always knocked the same irritating way with the same irritating rhythm that made her cheap bangles clank together and her gaudy rings scratch at the door panels. Without waiting for a response, she pushed the door open and bustled into the room ahead of the client, casting a critical eye over Ginny. Finding her to be satisfactory, she gave a barely perceptible nod and then turned to the client who's view she was blocking. Quiet words were spoken that Ginny was neither interested in, nor cared to hear.
Arranging her face into a suitably appealing expression, somewhere between pouty and wanton, she waited for the woman to depart and her evening's work to begin. When the door finally clicked shut, she flicked her eyes up to see what monstrosity of a man she would have to pretend to find irresistible. She was pleasantly surprised to find a tall figure in a dark cloak and hood. It was Him. She gave him a small but genuine smile, whether he returned it or not she didn't know for his face was hidden deep in the shadows of his hood.
He inclined his head in greeting, then pulled something fluid and silvery from a pocket of his robes. She caught a brief glimpse of the pale skin of his hand before the fabric swung up and over him and he disappeared from view. A few muffled footsteps later, the rustling of clothing indicated that he was making himself comfortable in the armchair. She wished she could say something to him, to break the uncomfortable silence between his arrival and the arrival of her first real client, but every time she tried, she was met with silence as her only response.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, depending on the point of view, the wait was only momentary as once again that annoying knock sounded at the door and the next client was ushered in. He was a middle-aged man, thin to the point of emaciation, whose mousy, greying hair was patchy and slightly unkempt. She could smell the whiskey he'd been drinking and pegged him as first-timer who had had to summon up the 'Dutch courage' to come here. She breathed an internal sigh of relief - he'd be over quickly.
He seemed almost endearingly nervous and undressed with robotic hands that trembled slightly. When he joined her on the bed she could see the beginnings of a modest erection already - this one would be easy. A few words spoken in her huskiest voice, the practiced touch of a professional hand, some discretely applied lubricant and he was inside her, thrusting. He lasted six minutes - quite impressive for a first-timer. She excelled herself with her orgasmic moaning and when it was over and he was preparing to leave, he left a few coins on her dressing table. Another perfectly satisfied customer.
The 'Madame' always allowed her ten minutes to freshen up, get dressed or change her outfit (depending on the whims and habits of the client) before bringing the next one up, and it was in this time that she always felt the burning shame of what she had done, the embarrassment of knowing that He had seen it, and the miserable desperation of knowing that she had no choice.
Her next client was a cocky teenage boy, obviously just turned sixteen and out to prove something. He told her that his mates had saved up to buy him this 'treat' and that she had better make it worth it. She hated clients like him and was half tempted to clench certain muscles in a certain way that would have him coming inside a minute and scuttling out of her room with his masculine pride in tatters, but the cocky teenage boys of today were the clients of tomorrow and while she needed a roof over her head and shelter from the Death Eaters, she would smile sweetly and invite him to suck her tit.
As it turned out, the boy was obviously a virgin, and she found herself feeling a little sad for him that he should be losing his virginity to a whore. However money was money and when she'd subtly smoothed over his fumbling mistakes and blatant inexperience and manoeuvred him onto his back, she wasted no time in guiding him inside her. His moans and cracked groans of appreciation as she rode him remorselessly, drowned out the sickeningly pathetic sounds of her body's contact with his. His climax, with the obligatory expletive, was mercifully quick and so absorbed was he in his own pleasure, that he failed to notice the light scratch of quill on parchment. She, however, did not miss it and flicked a quick glance in His direction as a warning.
When the boy was gone (and she discovered that he'd taken her knickers as a souvenir), without looking directly at the armchair she said; "You should have cast a silencing charm." She didn't expect a response, but when a whispered 'Sorry, I forgot' issued forth from across the room she looked up in shock. They were the first words he'd ever spoken to her, however she did not have enough time to see if she could lure him into conversation because one of the topless reception girls was showing in another client.
Ginny felt something amiss straight away. The reception girls were hired essentially as topless waitresses and nothing more and that was made clear to all clients the moment they walked through the door, but when Melissa had shown the client into the room and turned to go, the man grabbed hold of one of her breasts, leering at her.
"Won't you join us pretty one? I'd pay double."
Ginny could see the girl throwing her a pleading look and stepped forward to rescue her.
"Oh don't you worry sir," she said in her most alluring voice, "I'm sure I can find ways to keep you entertained all by myself." And with false cattiness she added, "She knows nothing anyway. She's just a serving girl. Let a professional take care of things for you," and she made a show of ushering the girl out of the door. Melissa shot her a grateful and slightly pitying look and as the door shut, Ginny could see her massaging her abused breast with a frown on her make-up caked face.
Dragging a smile onto her lips she turned back to face the man. Like her first client, he smelled of alcohol but this was different and she saw a frightening gleam in his eye. He was drunk, and was clearly no stranger to brothels. He was a large man, not obese but powerfully built with the rugged sort of face that implied fighting in bars and street violence in general, and he smelt of stale sweat. Since the 'house' only catered for the wizarding world, he was either a Wizard or a Squib and her money was on 'Squib' by the look of him.
Sashaying towards him she reached out and ran a scarlet-painted fingernail down his arm. He'd read her profile in the 'menu' and knew which services she offered and it was up to him to make a demand of her, but he stood leering at her body, encased as it was in the short, lacy black nightdress she'd thrown over her head when she'd discovered her knickers missing.
With a bit of luck he'd be too drunk to perform and she'd get away with a hand-job or at worse a blow-job (she barely suppressed a shudder), but when she ran a bold hand down to his crotch, she felt him stirring. He still hadn't told her what he wanted, so she thought she might as well prep him for penetration - she had him pegged as a 'take the bitch from behind' kind of guy and hoped that after a few minutes of bending over a table or on her hands and knees, he'd be done and gone.
With a speed and strength she wasn't expecting, he grabbed her hand and spun her around, shoving her hard in the middle of her back so that she fell face-first onto the bed. Controlling her initial panic she played along - some clients liked it a little rough, that was nothing new to her. She heard the unzipping of his flies and performed a hasty, wandless lubrication charm (something all the witches here learned very quickly, and the squib girls frequently requested of their magically endowed sisters). The mattress dipped and bulged as he knelt behind her and spread her legs roughly, his fingernails digging painfully into her thighs. He pulled her nightdress up and slapped her arse, leaving a stinging handprint.
She grimaced into the bed sheets as she felt two large fingers poking and prodding between her legs. His fingernails were long and rough and when he finally succeeded in pushing them into her, she suppressed a squeak of discomfort. Running her 'Disengage and float' mantra through her head on repeat play, she tried not to pay attention to his rough treatment of her.
"You like that bitch?" he grunted.
Her faked moan was muffled by the pillows but in any case it seemed that the question was rhetorical. A moment later he flipped her over and pinned her hands above her head. He whispered something and she found that she couldn't move her hands - he'd bound them with a charm.
Her nightdress, already dangerously low-cut before, was no longer covering any significant part of her - pulled down at the top and up at the waist. Nakedness didn't bother her as much as her charm-bound hands - unable to move, she was completely at his mercy. Some of her panic evidently showed on her face because the man gave an unpleasant leer as he grabbed at her exposed breasts.
"Didn't see that one coming 'eh Red? Thought I was a squib did ya?"
This was not how things were supposed to be. She only surrendered control to a client when she felt happy doing so, when the client had explained their domination fantasy or whatever other reason they had for wanting her to play the submissive woman. This client was different, he had wrested control away from her at the outset and was dictating the rules of their encounter and it unnerved her. She felt vulnerable and frightened, but daren't let it show on her face.
He ran his hands over her body and pulled her legs apart. Somewhat incongruously she wondered what her watcher was making of all of this. Was it turning him on? Is this what he'd like to do to her himself? Is this why he came so often? She found herself thinking uncharitable thoughts about the disgusting urges of men and in her mind her watcher was transformed from a benign presence into someone just as bad as the real clients with their sweaty leering, their body odour and their grasping, groping hands.
Her musings on men were interrupted by the gravely sneer of the man on top of her;
"You want to know what I think Red?" Although it was clear that again this question was rhetorical, "I think you're a filthy, overused slag with a loose cunt, and that ain't good enough for me." He didn't seem interested in letting her respond so she lay there silently, listening to his ranting. If he wanted to call her names she could deal with that, he wouldn't be the first. Perhaps this was some sort of fantasy, or perhaps he'd realised that he wasn't getting any harder and was trying to save face. A hundred scenarios ran through her mind and each one became less and less likely until she was forced to confront the truth: She was a cheap whore who sold her body in exchange for anonymity and safety, and she should just close her eyes, open her legs and grit her teeth until he was spent.
"You know," her client continued in an almost conversational tone, "I rather fancy something a little different tonight."
Please be a different girl, a blow job, something, anything that gets him to release me, she thought.
It was only as his fingers began to probe lower, that she caught the gist of what he mean't.
"NO!" she cried, clenching her thighs together, "I don't do anal. If you want that you'll have to see one of the other girls - Mirelle and Carina are the ones you want."
"Well maybe I didn't before but I do now," he replied with a malicious glint in his eye, "and since I've paid for you, I guess it's tough shit."
He grabbed her knees and forced her thighs apart, "Don't make me bind your legs as well - the last time I had to do that, the girl ended up with dislocated hips," he said in an unconvincing tone of remorse.
"NO!" she shrieked, struggling against the binding spell and kicking her legs, "GET OFF ME! NO! GET AWAY! I WON'T BE ARSE-FUCKED!"
He was much stronger than she was and simply laughed at her futile efforts. "I don't think you're in any position to dictate what will and won't happen, do you Red?"
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of silver but in the next moment her vision was obscured by the client - the rapist - as he clambered on top of her. Pain erupted across her nose and jaw as the rapist backhanded her across the face, and spots fizzled in front of eyes brimming with tears. She felt so near to choking on her own panic and her throat was constricted so painfully by the sobs rising in her chest that when the rapist stopped moving it took her a good twenty seconds to realise it.
Blinking frantically to clear her vision she looked up. The man above her was frozen in place, his face immobilised in an ugly expression of lust. Suddenly she felt the 'whoosh' of magic and her hands were unbound. Wasting no time, she scrabbled for purchase and shoved the man off of her. With no control over his body, he toppled off the bed and landed on the floor with a meaty thump, still in the same position, his swollen cock jutting crudely from his clothing.
Tearing her gaze away from the figure on the floor, she was startled to see a man standing at the foot of the bed, swathed in a dark cloak, his wand just visible out of the bottom of his right sleeve. Her heart pounding, she cast a quick glance in the direction of the chair and saw a silvery puddle of invisibility cloak. With a lurch of understanding, her brain began to function logically again and she realised that her watcher had intervened.
There was complete silence for several minutes during which the only sounds that could be heard were the rasps of her heavy breathing as she slowly calmed down and the soft, measured whispers of breath from the man in front of her. She began once again to feel nervous - what would he do now? With his dark cloak obscuring his features he was a threatening and imposing figure - and he was armed.
After a few moments, he broke the tension by moving around the bed towards the other man. Edging away from him, Ginny slipped from the mattress. Her dressing table was still a good distance away and she had no idea what she would do when she got there. This man had paid for her time - perhaps he'd decided it was time to cash in. She was trapped. She couldn't disapparate out for fear of discovery by the Death Eaters and she couldn't make a fuss to the house management in case they terminated her lease.
A groan from the floor indicated that her watcher had released the 'Petrificus Totalis'. Staggering to his feet the other man lurched towards her watcher and was rewarded with what appeared to be a stinging hex.
"What is this?" he cried, "some sort of set-up? I've paid for my whore and now I'm bein' swindled? Is that it?"
"Shut up," her watcher hissed. Evidently the man wasn't as stupid as he appeared because he complied.
"I know rape when I see it, regardless of what you think you paid for."
"Rape?" the man sneered, "She was gaggin' for it! And what were you doin' in 'ere anyway?"
Her watcher chose not to reply. Instead he stepped up to the man and raised the left sleeve of his robes. Stunned disbelief shot through Ginny as the burned flesh of the Dark Mark was revealed and instead of hysterical panic, her mind shut down and dull fizzing filled her ears, coupled with the sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach that accompanied a glimpse of inevitability.
Suddenly her rapist was all courtesy and grovelling. Pulling his clothes together he gave her watcher a bow and said; "My apologies sir, I had no idea she was Death Eater property, if I'd known, well, like I say, no harm done, I'll... I'll be off now, you'll not see me again sir," then he scurried towards the door muttering to himself.
As the door slammed behind him, she was galvanised into action and rational thought deserted her. If she died here, tonight, she wouldn't go without a fight. Hurling herself across the room, she scrabbled in the drawer for her little box. She forced herself to calm her actions down because she knew that every second was precious and she would be better served by taking the time to retrieve her wand properly than she would by grabbing blindly and potentially fumbling and dropping it.
It must have taken her less than five seconds in reality but it felt like minutes before she turned around, her wand in one hand, her box clutched tightly in the other. Her eyes darted around the room frantically, straining to search out some sign of him, but she couldn't see him anywhere. A quick glance at the armchair and she saw that he'd retrieved his invisibility cloak. Biting her lip against the renewed bout of sobbing that was threatening to break free, she stumbled back into the corner, her wand raised against an invisible foe.
"What do you want with me?" she cried, the tears slipping unnoticed down her cheeks, "I'm not doing any harm, I'm not involved in any plots against your master, I'm just trying to stay alive!" she sobbed, her words echoing off the walls unanswered.
Her only reply was the heart-stopping sensation of his hand as it shot out of midair and grabbed her wrist, coupled with the squeezing compression of side-along apparition.
Now you've read that, title suggestions are most welcome, that and I'm a comment/review whore who absolutely ADORES hearing what people have to say about my work. Chapter 2 is already in production, so I won't be cruel and hold y'all to ransom for comments, but since this chapter got written when I was off sick from work (my bloody wisdom teeth giving me merry hell), I can't promise when the next chapter will be done.
Lex.
This D/G fic is Post-Hogwarts, contains no real HBP spoilers because in HBP Harry was only theorising about something we've been putting in fanfic for AGES, so you'll only recognise it if you've read HBP and if you haven't, then it's nothing out of the ordinary if you've read any other D/G. It's only really suitable for mature audiences so under 18's look away now! LOL Lots of bad and crude language (but it's hardly gratuitous and is definitely needed for the story), Nudity, scenes of a sexual nature and attempted rape. If you are affected by these then please don't read this fic.
UNTITLED
Ginny Weasley or 'Scarlette' as she had allowed them to unimaginatively call her, sighed deeply as she looked in the mirror. The ancient grandfather clock down in the reception area had struck eight in the evening but mere moments before and she could hear the deep rumbling voices of the first of the evening's clients as they leafed through the 'menu'.
Tugging at the bottle-green lace so that it rode dangerously low, she examined her reflection one last time, cast the three quick, necessary charms, then tucked her wand into the box in the drawer of the dressing table, along with her Gringotts key and the small envelope of personal mementoes - all that was left of the life she had been forced to flee. Lifting the ugly, heavy glass perfume bottle she sprayed herself liberally then made her way to the tackily over-draped bed with it's Gold accents, pillows a-plenty and unmistakable air of excess and debauchery. Just how they liked it. Arranging herself in one of the recommended positions she waited.
Casting her eyes around the room, they lit upon the crimson armchair. Too far from the bed to be of any practical use, it was usually ignored and overlooked. However as she took in the familiar details such as the slightly fraying edging on the left corner of the cushion and the indentation in the seat, she wondered if he would come tonight. The other girls called him her watcher. They laughed about him and thought it was creepy, but Ginny was secretly rather fond of him. His visits were sporadic, but when he came, he would pay Madame Celeste (Winifred Benton) an obscenely large amount of money and he would sit in that armchair, all evening, covered in an invisibility cloak and simply watch her.
Sometimes she felt a little embarrassed, particularly when faking her Orgasm 'scenes', but she supposed that if that was what he got off on then it was fine by her. He could have touched her any time he liked - he paid enough money after all, but yet he did nothing, and a small part of her liked him for it. The money came in handy too - not that she was able to leave the safety of the house to spend it...
She was jolted from her musings by the hatefully familiar knock at the door. Madame Celeste always knocked the same irritating way with the same irritating rhythm that made her cheap bangles clank together and her gaudy rings scratch at the door panels. Without waiting for a response, she pushed the door open and bustled into the room ahead of the client, casting a critical eye over Ginny. Finding her to be satisfactory, she gave a barely perceptible nod and then turned to the client who's view she was blocking. Quiet words were spoken that Ginny was neither interested in, nor cared to hear.
Arranging her face into a suitably appealing expression, somewhere between pouty and wanton, she waited for the woman to depart and her evening's work to begin. When the door finally clicked shut, she flicked her eyes up to see what monstrosity of a man she would have to pretend to find irresistible. She was pleasantly surprised to find a tall figure in a dark cloak and hood. It was Him. She gave him a small but genuine smile, whether he returned it or not she didn't know for his face was hidden deep in the shadows of his hood.
He inclined his head in greeting, then pulled something fluid and silvery from a pocket of his robes. She caught a brief glimpse of the pale skin of his hand before the fabric swung up and over him and he disappeared from view. A few muffled footsteps later, the rustling of clothing indicated that he was making himself comfortable in the armchair. She wished she could say something to him, to break the uncomfortable silence between his arrival and the arrival of her first real client, but every time she tried, she was met with silence as her only response.
Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, depending on the point of view, the wait was only momentary as once again that annoying knock sounded at the door and the next client was ushered in. He was a middle-aged man, thin to the point of emaciation, whose mousy, greying hair was patchy and slightly unkempt. She could smell the whiskey he'd been drinking and pegged him as first-timer who had had to summon up the 'Dutch courage' to come here. She breathed an internal sigh of relief - he'd be over quickly.
He seemed almost endearingly nervous and undressed with robotic hands that trembled slightly. When he joined her on the bed she could see the beginnings of a modest erection already - this one would be easy. A few words spoken in her huskiest voice, the practiced touch of a professional hand, some discretely applied lubricant and he was inside her, thrusting. He lasted six minutes - quite impressive for a first-timer. She excelled herself with her orgasmic moaning and when it was over and he was preparing to leave, he left a few coins on her dressing table. Another perfectly satisfied customer.
The 'Madame' always allowed her ten minutes to freshen up, get dressed or change her outfit (depending on the whims and habits of the client) before bringing the next one up, and it was in this time that she always felt the burning shame of what she had done, the embarrassment of knowing that He had seen it, and the miserable desperation of knowing that she had no choice.
Her next client was a cocky teenage boy, obviously just turned sixteen and out to prove something. He told her that his mates had saved up to buy him this 'treat' and that she had better make it worth it. She hated clients like him and was half tempted to clench certain muscles in a certain way that would have him coming inside a minute and scuttling out of her room with his masculine pride in tatters, but the cocky teenage boys of today were the clients of tomorrow and while she needed a roof over her head and shelter from the Death Eaters, she would smile sweetly and invite him to suck her tit.
As it turned out, the boy was obviously a virgin, and she found herself feeling a little sad for him that he should be losing his virginity to a whore. However money was money and when she'd subtly smoothed over his fumbling mistakes and blatant inexperience and manoeuvred him onto his back, she wasted no time in guiding him inside her. His moans and cracked groans of appreciation as she rode him remorselessly, drowned out the sickeningly pathetic sounds of her body's contact with his. His climax, with the obligatory expletive, was mercifully quick and so absorbed was he in his own pleasure, that he failed to notice the light scratch of quill on parchment. She, however, did not miss it and flicked a quick glance in His direction as a warning.
When the boy was gone (and she discovered that he'd taken her knickers as a souvenir), without looking directly at the armchair she said; "You should have cast a silencing charm." She didn't expect a response, but when a whispered 'Sorry, I forgot' issued forth from across the room she looked up in shock. They were the first words he'd ever spoken to her, however she did not have enough time to see if she could lure him into conversation because one of the topless reception girls was showing in another client.
Ginny felt something amiss straight away. The reception girls were hired essentially as topless waitresses and nothing more and that was made clear to all clients the moment they walked through the door, but when Melissa had shown the client into the room and turned to go, the man grabbed hold of one of her breasts, leering at her.
"Won't you join us pretty one? I'd pay double."
Ginny could see the girl throwing her a pleading look and stepped forward to rescue her.
"Oh don't you worry sir," she said in her most alluring voice, "I'm sure I can find ways to keep you entertained all by myself." And with false cattiness she added, "She knows nothing anyway. She's just a serving girl. Let a professional take care of things for you," and she made a show of ushering the girl out of the door. Melissa shot her a grateful and slightly pitying look and as the door shut, Ginny could see her massaging her abused breast with a frown on her make-up caked face.
Dragging a smile onto her lips she turned back to face the man. Like her first client, he smelled of alcohol but this was different and she saw a frightening gleam in his eye. He was drunk, and was clearly no stranger to brothels. He was a large man, not obese but powerfully built with the rugged sort of face that implied fighting in bars and street violence in general, and he smelt of stale sweat. Since the 'house' only catered for the wizarding world, he was either a Wizard or a Squib and her money was on 'Squib' by the look of him.
Sashaying towards him she reached out and ran a scarlet-painted fingernail down his arm. He'd read her profile in the 'menu' and knew which services she offered and it was up to him to make a demand of her, but he stood leering at her body, encased as it was in the short, lacy black nightdress she'd thrown over her head when she'd discovered her knickers missing.
With a bit of luck he'd be too drunk to perform and she'd get away with a hand-job or at worse a blow-job (she barely suppressed a shudder), but when she ran a bold hand down to his crotch, she felt him stirring. He still hadn't told her what he wanted, so she thought she might as well prep him for penetration - she had him pegged as a 'take the bitch from behind' kind of guy and hoped that after a few minutes of bending over a table or on her hands and knees, he'd be done and gone.
With a speed and strength she wasn't expecting, he grabbed her hand and spun her around, shoving her hard in the middle of her back so that she fell face-first onto the bed. Controlling her initial panic she played along - some clients liked it a little rough, that was nothing new to her. She heard the unzipping of his flies and performed a hasty, wandless lubrication charm (something all the witches here learned very quickly, and the squib girls frequently requested of their magically endowed sisters). The mattress dipped and bulged as he knelt behind her and spread her legs roughly, his fingernails digging painfully into her thighs. He pulled her nightdress up and slapped her arse, leaving a stinging handprint.
She grimaced into the bed sheets as she felt two large fingers poking and prodding between her legs. His fingernails were long and rough and when he finally succeeded in pushing them into her, she suppressed a squeak of discomfort. Running her 'Disengage and float' mantra through her head on repeat play, she tried not to pay attention to his rough treatment of her.
"You like that bitch?" he grunted.
Her faked moan was muffled by the pillows but in any case it seemed that the question was rhetorical. A moment later he flipped her over and pinned her hands above her head. He whispered something and she found that she couldn't move her hands - he'd bound them with a charm.
Her nightdress, already dangerously low-cut before, was no longer covering any significant part of her - pulled down at the top and up at the waist. Nakedness didn't bother her as much as her charm-bound hands - unable to move, she was completely at his mercy. Some of her panic evidently showed on her face because the man gave an unpleasant leer as he grabbed at her exposed breasts.
"Didn't see that one coming 'eh Red? Thought I was a squib did ya?"
This was not how things were supposed to be. She only surrendered control to a client when she felt happy doing so, when the client had explained their domination fantasy or whatever other reason they had for wanting her to play the submissive woman. This client was different, he had wrested control away from her at the outset and was dictating the rules of their encounter and it unnerved her. She felt vulnerable and frightened, but daren't let it show on her face.
He ran his hands over her body and pulled her legs apart. Somewhat incongruously she wondered what her watcher was making of all of this. Was it turning him on? Is this what he'd like to do to her himself? Is this why he came so often? She found herself thinking uncharitable thoughts about the disgusting urges of men and in her mind her watcher was transformed from a benign presence into someone just as bad as the real clients with their sweaty leering, their body odour and their grasping, groping hands.
Her musings on men were interrupted by the gravely sneer of the man on top of her;
"You want to know what I think Red?" Although it was clear that again this question was rhetorical, "I think you're a filthy, overused slag with a loose cunt, and that ain't good enough for me." He didn't seem interested in letting her respond so she lay there silently, listening to his ranting. If he wanted to call her names she could deal with that, he wouldn't be the first. Perhaps this was some sort of fantasy, or perhaps he'd realised that he wasn't getting any harder and was trying to save face. A hundred scenarios ran through her mind and each one became less and less likely until she was forced to confront the truth: She was a cheap whore who sold her body in exchange for anonymity and safety, and she should just close her eyes, open her legs and grit her teeth until he was spent.
"You know," her client continued in an almost conversational tone, "I rather fancy something a little different tonight."
Please be a different girl, a blow job, something, anything that gets him to release me, she thought.
It was only as his fingers began to probe lower, that she caught the gist of what he mean't.
"NO!" she cried, clenching her thighs together, "I don't do anal. If you want that you'll have to see one of the other girls - Mirelle and Carina are the ones you want."
"Well maybe I didn't before but I do now," he replied with a malicious glint in his eye, "and since I've paid for you, I guess it's tough shit."
He grabbed her knees and forced her thighs apart, "Don't make me bind your legs as well - the last time I had to do that, the girl ended up with dislocated hips," he said in an unconvincing tone of remorse.
"NO!" she shrieked, struggling against the binding spell and kicking her legs, "GET OFF ME! NO! GET AWAY! I WON'T BE ARSE-FUCKED!"
He was much stronger than she was and simply laughed at her futile efforts. "I don't think you're in any position to dictate what will and won't happen, do you Red?"
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of silver but in the next moment her vision was obscured by the client - the rapist - as he clambered on top of her. Pain erupted across her nose and jaw as the rapist backhanded her across the face, and spots fizzled in front of eyes brimming with tears. She felt so near to choking on her own panic and her throat was constricted so painfully by the sobs rising in her chest that when the rapist stopped moving it took her a good twenty seconds to realise it.
Blinking frantically to clear her vision she looked up. The man above her was frozen in place, his face immobilised in an ugly expression of lust. Suddenly she felt the 'whoosh' of magic and her hands were unbound. Wasting no time, she scrabbled for purchase and shoved the man off of her. With no control over his body, he toppled off the bed and landed on the floor with a meaty thump, still in the same position, his swollen cock jutting crudely from his clothing.
Tearing her gaze away from the figure on the floor, she was startled to see a man standing at the foot of the bed, swathed in a dark cloak, his wand just visible out of the bottom of his right sleeve. Her heart pounding, she cast a quick glance in the direction of the chair and saw a silvery puddle of invisibility cloak. With a lurch of understanding, her brain began to function logically again and she realised that her watcher had intervened.
There was complete silence for several minutes during which the only sounds that could be heard were the rasps of her heavy breathing as she slowly calmed down and the soft, measured whispers of breath from the man in front of her. She began once again to feel nervous - what would he do now? With his dark cloak obscuring his features he was a threatening and imposing figure - and he was armed.
After a few moments, he broke the tension by moving around the bed towards the other man. Edging away from him, Ginny slipped from the mattress. Her dressing table was still a good distance away and she had no idea what she would do when she got there. This man had paid for her time - perhaps he'd decided it was time to cash in. She was trapped. She couldn't disapparate out for fear of discovery by the Death Eaters and she couldn't make a fuss to the house management in case they terminated her lease.
A groan from the floor indicated that her watcher had released the 'Petrificus Totalis'. Staggering to his feet the other man lurched towards her watcher and was rewarded with what appeared to be a stinging hex.
"What is this?" he cried, "some sort of set-up? I've paid for my whore and now I'm bein' swindled? Is that it?"
"Shut up," her watcher hissed. Evidently the man wasn't as stupid as he appeared because he complied.
"I know rape when I see it, regardless of what you think you paid for."
"Rape?" the man sneered, "She was gaggin' for it! And what were you doin' in 'ere anyway?"
Her watcher chose not to reply. Instead he stepped up to the man and raised the left sleeve of his robes. Stunned disbelief shot through Ginny as the burned flesh of the Dark Mark was revealed and instead of hysterical panic, her mind shut down and dull fizzing filled her ears, coupled with the sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach that accompanied a glimpse of inevitability.
Suddenly her rapist was all courtesy and grovelling. Pulling his clothes together he gave her watcher a bow and said; "My apologies sir, I had no idea she was Death Eater property, if I'd known, well, like I say, no harm done, I'll... I'll be off now, you'll not see me again sir," then he scurried towards the door muttering to himself.
As the door slammed behind him, she was galvanised into action and rational thought deserted her. If she died here, tonight, she wouldn't go without a fight. Hurling herself across the room, she scrabbled in the drawer for her little box. She forced herself to calm her actions down because she knew that every second was precious and she would be better served by taking the time to retrieve her wand properly than she would by grabbing blindly and potentially fumbling and dropping it.
It must have taken her less than five seconds in reality but it felt like minutes before she turned around, her wand in one hand, her box clutched tightly in the other. Her eyes darted around the room frantically, straining to search out some sign of him, but she couldn't see him anywhere. A quick glance at the armchair and she saw that he'd retrieved his invisibility cloak. Biting her lip against the renewed bout of sobbing that was threatening to break free, she stumbled back into the corner, her wand raised against an invisible foe.
"What do you want with me?" she cried, the tears slipping unnoticed down her cheeks, "I'm not doing any harm, I'm not involved in any plots against your master, I'm just trying to stay alive!" she sobbed, her words echoing off the walls unanswered.
Her only reply was the heart-stopping sensation of his hand as it shot out of midair and grabbed her wrist, coupled with the squeezing compression of side-along apparition.
Now you've read that, title suggestions are most welcome, that and I'm a comment/review whore who absolutely ADORES hearing what people have to say about my work. Chapter 2 is already in production, so I won't be cruel and hold y'all to ransom for comments, but since this chapter got written when I was off sick from work (my bloody wisdom teeth giving me merry hell), I can't promise when the next chapter will be done.
Lex.